You're My Morphine
by uhnonniemiss
Summary: Phan Oneshot. Phil's mind has been broken; whenever anything worries him, his body reacts with some kind of injury. He begins to push away those he loves, but what will happen when the person he loves most of all threatens to leave forever? Angst with a side of fluff. Warnings for alcohol abuse, blood and scenes of paranormal harm. Please review for my love metaphorical socks xxx


_I'm burning_

Phil pressed his hands over his mouth so he wouldn't scream. Checking to make sure his door was locked, he dived onto his bed, hugging his knees and scrunching up his eyes. _I'm burning. I'm burning. I'm burning. _He let out a whimper, and froze, terrified that his parents would hear in the kitchen below, but their quiet chatter went on as normal. Phil grabbed the nearest stuffed animal and hugged it to his chest, taking a deep, ragged breath.

He wasn't even hurt. He had no idea why this was happening. This morning he'd been fine, going around like an average kid, but then he'd been called into the kitchen, and his mum's voice had almost broken when she'd said what had happened to his big sister.

_Abigail, help me. Help me. I'm burning. _

The lights had turned bright, blinding, and a burning had spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers. _But there's nothing wrong with me. Why am I burning? _There was some kind of fire inside him and his sister was never coming home to help him. Tears gathered in the little boy's eyes as he buried his head in his pillow, determined not to scream. If his parents heard him scream, he wouldn't be able to explain what was happening to him. There wasn't a physical mark on his body; he'd be blamed for stealing the attention, and he wasn't, he wasn't at all. _What's happening to me? Why am I on fire? Someone help me, please._

So that scared little boy lay on the bed as he burned.

* * *

Phil lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. Seventeen years, since Abby had died. Seventeen years since something had gone wrong inside his head. For six thousand, two hundred and nine days, every time something bothered him, he hurt. A late train could be a paper cut, a hate comment could be a rush of nausea, a bad phone call could range from a headache to a broken bone. His torso was scattered with tiny bruises from a thousand lost items, his legs scarred from a million deadlines. So for five hundred thirty-six million, one hundred twelve thousand seconds, he'd coped.

He took a sip from the bottle next to the bed- he couldn't remember what it was full of, but it sure as hell wasn't water. Alcohol seemed to numb the pain. Somehow. Some of the time.

There was a soft knock at his door, and Dan poked his head into the room, his dark eyes kind and concerned. Phil felt the familiar stab of pain between his ribs, and not for the first time, he considered telling Dan how he felt. How he thought that having those hands round his waist and their legs tangled together might be the only medicine he needed.

Instead he sighed, and closed his eyes. _Dan doesn't deserve this mess you're in. _And that was if he believed him in the first place; most likely he'd assume Phil was trying to play the victim, steal the limelight. The alcohol tasted like acid as it burned its way down Phil's throat, and he closed his eyes. "What is it?"

"You're drinking." There was a taste of disappointment in Dan's words, and Phil held back a flinch as a sharp stabbing sensation hit between his shoulder blades. "Never mind. I just wanted to see how you were. You've seemed- I don't know how you've seemed." He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm being distant, aren't I?" Phil sounded bored even to himself. Of course he was distant. Every time he looked at Dan, his- condition, power, whatever the hell it was- got worse. A thousand times worse. Every time he looked at Dan, he was reminded about how they couldn't be together. And of all the little "bothers" Phil had to deal with on a daily basis, well, that one took the cake. He didn't know what to do, except distance himself. He was good at it, too. Call it a special skill.

At the same time, he had no idea what he'd do if Dan went away.

"You know what, yeah, you are," Dan ran a hand through his hair. "Phil, you barely talk to me anymore. If there's something I can do-" he laid a hand on Phil's leg, his hand aligning perfectly with one of his fresher bruises. Before Phil could stop himself, a hiss escaped from between his teeth, followed by a small whine of pain. Dan retracted his hand quickly. "Oh, god, are you okay?"

Phil rolled onto his side, dropping the bottle and moaning a little. "No. Yes. I'm fine. Everything's fine," he spat, facing away from Dan.

Dan's eyes were wide with panic. He looked at Phil's back, where the t shirt had ridden up enough to expose some skin, turned black and blue by bruises. "Jesus, Phil! What's happened to you? Is someone beating you up? Is it at work, or, or were you mugged, why didn't you tell me?" His voice started to rise in pitch.

Phil curled his hands around himself protectively; this conversation was making his head ache, and with a flinch he felt the tell-tale signs of a sprain in his ankle. "No, it's nothing like that. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"No, Phil, I can't just-"

"Go _away_, Dan." Phil meant the words as a plea, but they came out harsh and cold. Dan went very still, and when Phil turned over again, his face was unreadable.

"Fine, then. I will."

"What?" Phil almost felt his heart stutter.

"I said fine. I'll go away." Dan's voice cracked, tears filling his eyes. "Do you know what I came into this room to tell you? That I'd found somewhere else to live. You clearly don't want me around anymore."

Phil tried to push himself up from the bed, muscles screaming. "Dan, no-"

"We're supposed to trust each other, Phil!" Dan's hands were shaking. "I'm your best friend, I'm in l- I, I mean, I'm supposed to be here for you. And now you're here getting hurt, and you can't tell me. You're always drinking and you never talk to me and I just can't watch you drift away from me like this." A sob ripped its way out of Dan's chest. "Not when I feel like this. It's not good for either of us." He stood up, and Phil scrambled to the bottom of the bed. "I'm sorry, Phil. I'm really, really sorry."

"Dan, please!" Phil screamed, but the door had already swung shut. He climbed out of bed, gritting his teeth and clinging to the metal bars._ This can't be happening. _His ankle was sprained; it almost buckled under Phil's weight, and he lurched towards the door, clawing at the wooden frame. "Come back, Dan, please, I'm begging you."

Shaking with every step, he made his way down the stairs. Dan's jacket was gone, along with his keys. Phil screamed until his voice was hoarse, beating against the door.

_Oh my god. What have I done? I've lost him. I've lost him. He's not coming back._

_This is going to tear me apart._

He stumbled into the lounge, hands gripping his hair. Dan was gone. Dan was gone and it was all Phil's fault. This was every nightmare born in flesh and blood. A wave of pain hit his chest, and he doubled over. Crap, he had no idea if he'd make it through the _night _without Dan, let alone the rest of his life. However short that might be.

In seventeen years, Phil had never wondered if this pain could kill him. Now it looked as though it was about to do just that.

A sharp crack echoed through the room, and Phil grit his teeth. That was two ribs at least, maybe three. Deep lacerations bit into his back, the blood soaking through the back of his t-shirt. Another crack; this time his leg. Phil screamed as he fell to the floor, chest heaving as he fought for breath through aching lungs. The pain turned the room hazy, unfocussed. "Dan, help me, please!" He tried screaming again, more from instinct than any rational thought. That's all he had now; instincts and screaming and pain. The room flickered between a London flat and a young boy's bedroom, and he felt himself burn, tears stinging his eyes like they had all those years ago. "Please," he tried again, more whisper than shout this time. He fancied that he heard Dan talking to him, but he was on his own, now. Just like he always had been.

A final loud _snap_. Phil's eyes drifted into twin crescent moons. "Dan, I love you."

A distant voice.

A fade.

* * *

**Twenty minutes earlier**

Dan sat on the edge of the pavement, staring out into the road as cars drove by, gravel digging into his hands and tears rolling silently down his face. He hadn't wanted to go, not at all; in fact, he'd been lying when he said he had somewhere else to live, and even now he could barely bring himself to go. Without Phil, there could be no Dan. He couldn't imagine not living together, never mind how much it hurt. He was scared, though, scared of what Phil was doing to himself, scared of whatever somebody else was doing to him, scared of what Dan _wanted _to do to him- it was too much. If he'd stayed any longer, it would have torn him to shreds.

He stood up, ready to go and find a hotel for the night, but froze, back still to the apartment. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that Phil needed him. Dan shook his head, trying to shake away the thought. _Stupid_. Phil didn't need anyone, and more to the point, he didn't want anyone. That was pretty clear. But still, Dan hovered on the roadside.

Wiping tears out of his eyes, Dan glanced back at the building. That feeling continued to nag at the pit of his stomach, and he bit his lip. It couldn't hurt to go back, pick up a couple of things, could it? It couldn't hurt to at least try and talk to Phil, right? The answer was yes, yes it could, and quite a lot. But he clenched his fists and strengthened his resolve.

Yes, this might hurt, but that wasn't going to stop Dan from doing it.

The sick feeling only increased as Dan started to climb the stairs. He always knew if there was something wrong with Phil, and his nerves were sparking, on edge._ This is stupid. I'm sure Phil's fine. _All reason told him to turn back round, and he almost did. Almost.

The scream pierced the air like a blade, a gunshot. Dan's eyes widened, his heart beating in double time. "Phil?" he called, running towards the source of the noise. "Phil, are you okay?" His hands fumbled as he tried to put the key in the lock, adrenaline shaking his fingers. He threw open the door, the screaming louder, more defined. Dan looked down at Phil, lying on the floor. _Oh, my God._

"Phil?" Dan fell to his knees beside the other man, a flailing limb almost clipping him. Phil's face was even whiter than usual, a hideous, sickly pale stark against two red tear streams on his cheeks. Phil writhed and bucked on the floor, left leg bent at an odd angle, hands claws against the carpet. His screams were wordless, desperate; an odd phrase would bubble to the surface, through pain and laboured breathing. Dan heard his name, and his throat closed up.

"Phil? Phil, it's okay. I'm here, it's alright. I'm gonna call an ambulance. I've got you. It's alright." He held onto Phil's hand tightly, fingers shaking as he dug out his phone and dialled the emergency number. "Hello? I need an ambulance- I don't know, my friend- oh, god, Phil?" A deafening crack split the air, and Phil went limp on the floor, all the life gone out of him. "Phil, come on, stay with me."

Phil couldn't hear him, his eyes drifting closed. "Dan… love… you," he murmured, body broken and tired. He let out a breath in a gasp, and went still, frighteningly so.

"No. No, no, no." Dan shook his head, tossing his phone aside and leaning over Phil. "No. You can't leave me. You can't. I don't know what's happening, but help's right around the corner." He smoothed back the hair from Phil's face. "Please, Phil. Please. I love you. I love you. Please don't go." Fresh tears flowed down his face, the saltiness resting on his lips as he kissed Phil, first on the forehead, then full on the mouth. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry I left. I love you, Phil."

Medics ran into the room, dragging Dan backwards, away from Phil. Sirens washed over him, the whole world moving as though through water. They lifted Phil onto a stretcher- he looked so fragile, lying there, like a broken china doll.

Dan squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed. _Please, God. Let him come back to me._

* * *

The gentle beep and whirr of machines coaxed Phil into consciousness. He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, and grimaced when he saw the bleary outlines of tubes and IVs. He attempted to push himself up, but gentle hands held him down; as his eyes focused, Dan's face came into view above him.

"Hey, there," Dan smiled, his voice low and calm. "Take it easy. How do you feel? Do you need more painkillers?"

Phil leaned back into the pillows, trying to think clearly. The pains throbbing through his body were good; they reminded him that he was still alive. "No, I'm okay. I'm breathing, so that's good." He shivered. "God, I'm cold. What happened? Where are we?"

Dan bit his lip, grabbing a blanket by the side of the bed and gently laying it over Phil. "You really don't remember?"

Phil concentrated, and with a jolt his memories started to return; lying on the floor, screaming, the horrific fade to black. Panicked, he tried to sit up again, almost ripping the needles from his arm. "Dan, I'm so sorry. Please don't go. We can talk this out, just please, please forgive me-" the heartbeat monitor began to beep erratically, and Dan put a hand on his shoulder.

"Shh. I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I wish I'd never left." He pushed Phil back onto the bed, checking all the screens and wires. Phil let him, but still looked worried. "What happened? Did the hospital call you? How did they even find me?"

A haunted look entered Dan's eyes. "I came back to the flat. I wanted to tell you why I was leaving, how I felt about you- oh, sorry, was that the wrong time?" He looked at Phil nervously as the other man spluttered.

"What do you mean, how you felt about me?" Phil choked out.

"I left because I'm in love with you, idiot. It might be a stupid, messed up reason, but I thought it was best for both of his if I wasn't hanging around like a bad smell. Sorry. It probably wasn't the right time to tell you that."

Phil waved his hand, still speechless. "I, er, no, it's fine. Just so we're clear, did you say you're in love with me?"

Dan rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh. Yes. I did. Is that-"

"That's okay!" Phil said hurriedly. "That's more than okay! Kind of all my dreams coming to life right there, you know, or whatever."

"Really?" Dan sat fully upright in his chair.

"Yeah, really." The other man squirmed, turning pink. "So… we love each other. That's established. Wow. Carry on with the story before my heart cuts out again?"

Dan fidgeted, his suddenly elated expression falling back into grimness. "So I came back, but I saw you on the floor… screaming…" He shuddered, exhausted. "You know what was weird? You have so many broken bones. There was stuff happening that even the doctors couldn't explain. Stuff I know you didn't do to yourself. Phil, you have to tell me what's going on with you. No more lies," he warned as Phil opened his mouth.

Phil sighed. He knew this would have to happen eventually, and if he had to tell anyone, he was glad it was Dan. So everything poured out; what had happened when his sister died, why he'd been getting so many weird injuries, why he'd become so secluded, why he'd wanted to cope by himself. He even explained why he'd tried to distance himself from Dan. By the end of it, they were holding hands, both sobbing like idiots.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Dan." Phil's voice trembled, but Dan shook his head.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with it by yourself. You don't have to go through it alone, okay? You've got a few broken bones, your back is… the doctors said there shouldn't be lasting damage. I'll be with you every step of the way. Then when you leave, I'm going to help. I'm going to be the best friend in the world. You'll see." His mouth was set in a wobbling but determined line.

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Best friend? I go through all of this, and you're still going to friendzone me?" The dig was tinged with a hint of anxiety, but Dan laughed, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

"I mean… we can be more than friends, if you still want. I'd like it a lot. I understand if you don't though," Phil's expression was enough to shut him up. "Okay. You do want. I have already kissed you, by the way."

Phil lifted a hand to his lips, imagining how Dan's had fit there. "Wow. I'm sorry I missed out on that. God, you wait five years for a kiss…" he smiled at Dan. "No more secrets, I promise. I'm not afraid to tell you stuff anymore."

Dan leaned forward and kissed Phil's forehead. "Good. You better not be. Now, are you in any pain? Do I need to get a nurse?"

Phil opened his mouth, intending to say yes, because he was always in pain. Then he thought about it, really focused on it. His eyes were wide, confused. "No."

Dan looked at him sternly. "Phil…"

"No, Dan honestly, I'm not." He looked around, disoriented. "Have you messed with the painkillers?"

"No, I've-" Dan dropped Phil's hand, and a wave of pain ran through Phil's body again, making him cry out. "Dan!" he managed to get out, half plea, half fear.

Dan swore, grabbing Phil's hand again and searching for the emergency button, but as soon as their fingers touched Phil relaxed again, all the pain draining away. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Wait, what? Why does nothing hurt?" he stared down at their hands, tangled together. "Oh. Oh my god." He pulled his hand away, then quickly took it again when he hissed in pain.

Dan looked confused. "What is it? What's happening?"

Tears started to gather in Phil's eyes. "I was right. All this time. You were the medicine I needed." He held Dan's hand even tighter. "You're… you're my painkiller. My morphine. You stop it hurting." He let out a delighted laugh, bubbling up from his chest.

Dan covered his mouth with his hands. "You're serious? I can… how?"

"I don't know," Phil couldn't stop laughing now that he'd started. "I don't know. I love you. I love you so much."

Dan started laughing along with him, happy tears starting to fall. "I love you too. Hey, if holding your hand feels good…" He left the end of the sentence hanging, choosing instead to lean forward and press his lips to Phil's. It felt impossible and beautiful and even better than Phil had ever imagined it. He realised with a start that he'd never have to be alone, or afraid, ever again. Phil kissed him like he was the only oxygen he'd ever known, the only freedom he'd ever had.

And for once, he really, truly believed that everything was going to be alright.

**Thank you for reading xxx For the rest of my writing, and some extra information on this fic, please go to my tumblr (also called uhnonniemiss)**

**Your reviews are the reason flowers grow and birds sing so please tell me what you thought ****:)**


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